Promises to Keep
by Donteatacowman
Summary: Danny floated around the empty graveyard, pointedly ignoring the deadness surrounding him. Sam would meet him here soon, so he had no reason to care about the graves or their sleeping inhabitants. All he had to do was hang on until Sam came. Angst Day!


_A/N: Kudos to my **four** awesome betas, AnneriaWings, Amazing Bluie, DragonDancer132, and CatalystoftheSoul! Thank you so much, you guys!_

_Disclaimer: I own the rights to nothing here!_

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_Creak._

_Creak._

_Creakkk._

Danny swung his legs as the little wooden bench-swing rocked back and forth on its squealing, rusty chains. The thing was old and had begun to rot a little, having been exposed to the elements its entire existence, but it was still sturdy enough to hold him. He kicked the hard, damp mud patch under his seat to propel the swing forward again.

_Creak._

Danny sighed. For a moment he imagined he could see his breath, but that was just wishful thinking. It wasn't the time of year for frost and there wasn't a ghost for miles, Danny would know. Staring across the misty length of grass and stone that stretched out in front of him, he let his mind wander.

_Creak,_ moaned the swing.

A few minutes later, he stuck his feet out, catching himself on the ground. The swing stopped mid-arc and shuddered as Danny stood with a groan. Dawn was soon approaching.

He almost resented his ghost form at such times as this. Though some of his senses were undoubtably heightened, as a ghost he lacked the clear sense of smell belonging to a human. A shame. Even in a barren place like this, late summer morning-mud-and-grass had a wonderful scent, a deep earthy one that reminded him of Sam when she had been in her plant enthusiast phase.

Danny shook his head hard as if to throw the memories from his thoughts. He didn't like to think of Sam anymore. It always led to such dismal thoughts that he would be stuck in a funk for weeks.

Suddenly angry, he stomped to a corner of the yard, fuming at himself. It was too late to take back the memory, though. Her face was haunting his mind again. If he strained his ears, he even thought he could hear her voice.

_"Danny,"_ she'd say and laugh._ "Danny, you worrywart, I'm not going anywhere. I told you so, remember?"_

"You told me so," he repeated under his breath and kicked a flower that had been lying on the ground. "You wouldn't leave me, you'd come back. You promised." He growled, but somehow it turned into a whine. "Sam, you promised!"

He sighed his emotions away and let go of the ground, drifting across a few rows of stones until he came to the one he was looking for. It was huge, a strong granite angel that guarded the grave with a sad smile and a gentle outstretched hand, spreading out its wings as if about to take off and carry a soul away to eternal rest. When it rained, water drops would trickle down its cheeks as if it were crying. It had cost the Mansons about as much as a small house to have it custom-made and lugged to the cemetery.

Danny hated it.

He was sure Sam would too. It was so touchy-feely, too soft and happy and hopeful, and what's worse, her _parents_ had hand-picked it out. Danny reached a hand out and flicked the angel's head. He would rather have punched it, but it felt too weird to him to be able to hit something in his ghost form and feel little to no pain. Another reminder of how he was no longer really human.

He folded his arms and waited.

He stood there until the sun was overhead and the mist of the graveyard had evaporated away into white, fluffy clouds overhead. Yawning, he leaned against the statue, eyes half-lidded. The day passed slowly, dragging on, with Danny in expectant solitude all the while. Now and then a breeze would ruffle the grass or a bird would call, but no other visitors came to the old, forgotten graveyard on the edge of Amity Park.

For a ghost, Danny was very impatient. Oh, he didn't move a foot from the base of the stone angel, but he fidgeted and squirmed, hummed and tapped his foot, doodled in the dirt with his fingertips, anything to keep his mind off of where he was and why Sam hadn't arrived yet. She had _promised,_ after all.

When the sun had fallen to the horizon and shadows stretched out from the gravestones like a hundred drops of ink dotting the yard, Danny backed up from the grave, his countenance no longer bored. Mist floated between his legs and trailed at his feet when he stumbled. Before he could fall to or even through the ground, he caught himself and froze. Raising his head just an inch, he locked eyes with the stone angel above Sam's grave. For a second, the glare of undead eyes competed with unliving stone. Danny gave up first, tearing his gaze away with disgust for the effigy. Its promise of eternal rest in Heaven was hollow to him; he was already stuck only halfway there.

"Sam," he said to the angel desperately, "I'm tired, I'm tired of waiting."

The angel gave no response, and neither did her deceased charge. Danny frowned before spinning on his heel and stalking away, fists clenched and eyes burning with tears that couldn't come.

_She's coming back,_ Danny comforted himself as he sulked off to another corner of the graveyard, far away from the unresponsive angel and Sam's silent grave. _She promised, she's coming back, she promised. She said she'd come back for me._ He kept up the inward chant, settled himself against his own gravestone, and folded his arms stubbornly. He glowered at the granite angel that was still in his line of sight before turning away, focusing on the distant evening sky.

He didn't realize that Sam couldn't keep her promise. He didn't admit that perhaps she was never going to become a ghost at all. He couldn't fathom that he and Sam would never be together forever, as they had promised each other countless times.

He didn't know that even love couldn't defeat the grave.

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_To see the angel, swing on by http://donteatacowman. deviantart. com/art/Graveyard-Angel-159672904 (without spaces)._


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